


Mycroft is like Christmas

by xlechatnoir



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xlechatnoir/pseuds/xlechatnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Christmas on 221B Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mycroft is like Christmas

At first, there was some sighing, clacking and one “bloody hell”. That’s how the peace at 221B Baker Street was ruined when the corridor became full with undefined noises. Sherlock sighed turning the next page of “13 things that don’t have sense” by Michael Brooks. It was supposed to be one of those nice and calm days. All of the experiments were done or at the stage when all he has to do was waiting the results. 

Snow has cocooned London in a white, frosty duvet. Christmas lamps and lights were beaming along the street making the impression that world has become red and gold. There was no other time like Christmas, on the Oxford Street the crowd of crying children, lovey-dovey couples, stressed parents carrying letters for Santa every and each of them were flowing with constant intensity until the last shop will be closed. Looking at London’s streets someone may think that half of its habitants are Santa Claus or elves jingling bells on their funny hats, t-shirts, bags, shoes or on every piece of clothes they have on. For one month London stopped sounding only like mixture of horns, screams, chats and hum. It was filled with bells, laughter and great amount of “hohoho” performed by every single Santa. It might seem that even the freezing, snowy weather wasn’t enough to break the Christmas spirit.

Except Sherlock Holmes who didn’t even notice that it’s been Christmas already. Until Christmas broke in to his own apartment, to his living room precisely.   
Something banged in the corridor, someone cursed and screamed stopping on the fifth stair. 

“John!” Sherlock exclaimed behind the book, reading all the time. Silence, little hiss when that certain person leant back against the wall. And there came another voice, sweet and comforting. Sherlock didn’t have time to listen to the little chat because the sound of steps on stairs started again. “John!” Sherlock repeated frowning and lowering the book, just to have perfect view on the door. 

And then “Oh bloody hell!” again supported by sighing and panting.

“John! What is going on up there?!” Sherlock didn’t even move still holding his book. 

“You may help us, my dear!” Mrs Hudson twittered following John and helping him to carry something which had to be at least huge. 

Sherlock put the book back and stood up just in time to see the top of huge fir intruding to his living room. 

“It’s our living room” John clarified seeing the grimace Sherlock has made. “And thank you Mrs Hudson.” He added over his shoulder to the smiling landlady. Mrs Hudson waved a hand descending to her apartment. Truth to be told there are far more interesting things on telly than oncoming quarrel between your neighbours. 

“But what is it, John?” Sherlock crossed arms on his chest watching the struggle John versus the tree.

“It’s a tree Sherlock, a Christmas tree. And a fir precisely.” John answered panting. With the back of his hand he wiped the drops of sweat on his forehead. One to zero for the Christmas tree. “You may lend me a hand with this.”

“What is the Christmas tree doing in our living room?” Sherlock ignored the last part of John’s answer. He stood next to the smaller man and he was looking at the tree like it was a dead body. John could bet that the dead body would be more welcomed than the tree. He straightened up and put hands on his hips.

“Now? Blocking our door. And I think it will stay that way forever if you don’t help me moving it.” John said copying the pose and the manner of Sherlock’s talk. 

“In or out?”

“In, Sherlock” John clarified giving Sherlock an upset gaze. Detective sighed and grabbed net in which the tree was coiled. They pulled together and after less than half an hour the Christmas tree has completely moved in at 221B Baker Street. 

“So what now? John, we don’t have…” Sherlock moved his hands towards the floor trying to find the right word. “We don’t have anything to make it stand. Now, your Christmas tree is blocking my sofa.” He added steadying his breath after the last struggle. “John, where are you going?” Sherlock frowned and looked past his flatmate. 

“I think that I have a solution for your blocked sofa.” John answered ironically carrying a huge bag. It didn’t look well for Sherlock. The huge bag meant a lot of glass balls, angels, Christmas tree lights and all those ridiculous Christmas things. 

“Look! I’ve also bought a mistletoe!” John smiled completely unaffected by Sherlock’s attitude. He was unpacking slowly and with every single thing their living room was turning into a space full of glitter, gold and red with a smell of gingerbread and cinnamon. 

“We don’t need a mistletoe” Sherlock stated looking down as his skull is disappearing between fake angles, glass balls and boxes with star shaped cookies. 

“Yes, as much as we don’t need a Christmas tree.” John confirmed. After a short moment of languor he glanced at detective. “Sherlock, don’t be a Grinch.” 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, picked up the book and sat in his armchair observing John. 

 

The grandfather clock has stroke one pm. It was still bright outside, the rush hours passed by just to come back at four pm. John peeked at Sherlock to find him entirely buried in a book. The dim light peeking through heavy curtains was illuminating detective’s figure. His dark curls, pale and high cheekbones and purple shirt with one undone button. 

“John, don’t look at me, I can’t concentrate on the book” Sherlock muttered turning the next page.

“I can’t understand what’s so wrong in Christmas. Especially, as far as I know, when you don’t have any traumatic memories from this specific period of time and your family, I think I may say that, it’s quite successful, warm and carrying” John straighten up a little looking openly at Sherlock.

“You forgot ‘lovely’” Sherlock added closing the book, that well known smirk appeared on his face.

“You missed my point” John frowned.

“No John, I exactly got your point.” Sherlock corrected and sighed. He leant against the armchair and connected his hands to press them to his chin as always when he was thinking.

“John do you remember the first time we’ve met? I’ve thought that I defined my beliefs quite clear, but now I’m beginning to question this…”

“I still can’t see what it has to do with you celebrating Christmas” John said calmly untangling Christmas tree lights on their coffee table.   
Sherlock stretched a little and grabbed heavy volume of encyclopaedia then opened it to point one of the entries. 

“’Christmas, Christian festival celebrating the birth of Jesus.’ As far as I’m concerned I don’t consider myself as a Christian and I’ve thought that neither do you.” Sherlock stated as smug as he can ever be. “According to your logic we should also celebrate Yom Keepur.”

“Oh God, but it’s Christmas Sherlock! Christmas time when everyone tries to be nice to each other, time of forgiveness and joy, filled with sound of carols and love.” John exclaimed flinging aside tangled up lights. He stared at Sherlock with this expectant look which the detective’s known so well.

“You’re not making sense John. It doesn’t change anything at all.” Sherlock alleged opening his book to start reading once again. 

“Alright then. But don’t you dare eat any of my Christmas cookies or Christmas cake, because if you do, I will throw the scull away. And I am very serious now.” John stated and he put with rage a Christmas wreath on their coffee table. After a moment of silence Sherlock heard noises coming from the kitchen. He sighed turning the page. 

That’s how Christmas has begun.

 

Since the last day John seemed a little bit mysterious. That doesn’t concerned all this Christmas rush, Sherlock was absolutely certain about it. Their apartment was full of John and his Christmas presence, the doctor has been preparing the cakes and pudding, he’s decorated the fireplace with socks and holly, the Christmas tree was standing next to Sherlock’s armchair, still waiting to be decorated. Sherlock’s noticed that John’s wearing jumpers only with reindeers or snowflakes on them. Even the sociopath detective could accept all that as normal during the last days before Christmas, but there was something more about John’s behaviour. Whenever Sherlock was trying to get to John’s bedroom or when he was entering the living room without any previous sign, John was obviously hiding something in a hurry. What’s interesting that every time Sherlock’s checked all possible places, he couldn’t find anything (except his own cell phone which he had lost two months ago). 

“John, are you making me a present?” Sherlock asked some evening when John has just come back from his work. Doctor raised his eyebrows unwinding his thick, woollen scarf.

“Maybe you don’t know this, but only good children may get the presents, Sherlock.” John answered patiently skipping to his doctor mode and smiling innocently.

“But I’m good as gold, John!” Sherlock frowned evidently hurt. John chuckled putting down his briefcase.

“I may assure you that Sherlock Holmes is not as good as gold, especially sitting next to undecorated Christmas tree and disbelieving in Christmas. That equals no presents.” John justified copying Sherlock’s smirk too perfectly. “And now may you excuse me, I have to finish my Christmas pudding.” And he disappeared in kitchen leaving Sherlock Holmes absolutely speechless. 

Wanted or not, that’s how Christmas Eve came to the apartment at 221B Baker Street.   
It’s been already dark outside when Sherlock came back from Scotland Yard taking off his long coat and inherent scarf. He burst in to the living room carrying a bundle of files and papers. 

“Not now, I’m busy” John said before Sherlock got time to even open his mouth. 

“John it may disappoint you but during Christmas murderers don’t have a vacation.” Sherlock stated sitting down and taking of his black gloves.

“I know that, although I have a vacation and I’m so not interested in any murderers.” John didn’t even glance at Sherlock. He squatted in front of the coffee table surrounded by pens, cards and envelopes. 

“I trust you’re not trying to tell me that writing Christmas cards is more significant than chasing criminals.” Sherlock leant into his armchair. 

“It actually is, for now.” John signed a card with smiling Santa encircled by presents. Sherlock sighed and put down his gloves. He was observing John for several minutes, watching the growing heap of white or red envelopes. 

“I hope that neither of this goes to Mycroft.” Sherlock said frowning a little.

“Too late.” Answered John and seeing the grimace on Sherlock’s face he added. “He’s your brother Sherlock…”

“Mother nature isn’t perfect.”

“… no matter you want it or not.” John finished sighing.

“So, logically speaking Mycroft is like Christmas.” Sherlock stated still observing John.

“Yes. It just happens to be and you can’t do anything about it, so you’d better get over it and try to be nice.” John added smiling that his flatmate finally got the point.

“Actually I’d rather labelled it as a catastrophe.” Sherlock settled regarding his own nails. John decided that this conversation is complete nonsense and there is no point in convincing Sherlock.

“Whatever. May you help me with those?” he asked pointing at the bunch of cards.

“I may sign.” Sherlock offered politely squatting next to John. 

 

Two hours have passed since Sherlock disappeared upstairs in his bedroom. He said he has some urgent experiment to conduct. John remembered that detective also has mentioned something about unread book and unsatisfying conditions.

Sherlock was reading in silence, from time to time he pricked up his ears to check what John is doing downstairs. He could hear some shuffling, coughing and carols singed by artists well known to the world but completely mysterious to Sherlock. Detective yawned and came back to his book.

The grandfather clock has stroke eleven pm when Sherlock stretched deciding to descend for a cup of tea. It was a bit more quiet in the living room except the carols played by hi-fi near the fireplace. John was bustling in the room. With a cup of tea in his hand Sherlock peeked into the room leaning against the doorframe. He saw doctor decorating the Christmas tree. For now he only put the lights and star shaped cookies with red ribbons.

“Need a hand?” Sherlock asked after sipping his tea. John raised his eyebrows and nodded. Sound of porcelain cup put down on the table broke for a moment an ideal silence with carols singed in the background. Detective picked one from the glass balls and without any complaint he started copying John’s moves, after all it was doctor who was an expert. John smiled seeing Sherlock decorating the tree with his famous logic. Detective was picking the red ones, then the golden ones and again the red ones. 

“Sherlock, you don’t have to be so… scrupulous.” John suggested carefully. 

“It’s also my Christmas tree John, isn’t it?” Sherlock answered looking down at John.

“Alright. Do as you wish.” John said and chuckled silently. Detective glanced at his friend and also smiled to the twigs taking next glass ball. 

The burning wood in the fireplace was cracking and thanks to this and played carols you could smell Christmas, how it invaded London and not only London but also rather specific apartment at 221B Baker Street and their peculiar lodgers. 

“I’ve thought that you don’t like Christmas and all that kind of stuff” John gestured the tree and glass balls. 

“Yes… But when I was sitting upstairs it came to me that this tree is irrationally high and you’ve bought this” Sherlock took a golden flicking star. “And as far as I’m concerned this goes to the top and we don’t have any ladder.”

John chuckled and looked at the grandfather clock while it’s started to strike the midnight.

“It’s already Christmas.” John announced with a happy smile looking how Sherlock was stretching to put the star on the top of the Christmas tree. Detective stepped aside a little to admire his (John was certain that for Sherlock it was especially his) work. 

“Merry Christmas, John.” Sherlock said smiling in his own specific way. “I assume that for tomorrow breakfast we have pudding and cake, am I right?”

Doctor nodded looking at the tree and then at his flat mate.

“Yes Sherlock, you deserved it.” John assured his friend. Sherlock stopped at the beginning of the stairs and glanced at the living room, the fireplace, the colourful Christmas tree and John standing in front of it.

“I think John I will have very good Christmas this year.” Sherlock stated after a while. John smiled and opened his mouth to add something but then Sherlock added “No Mycroft to ruin it.”  
John’s smile was just to blown away when Sherlock tipped the wink to John and smirked before running upstairs.

Doctor looked back and picked prepared present from under the sofa to put it under the Christmas tree. Suddenly he noticed a neatly packed package with giant but elegant golden bow. “To John without who I would be lost.” 

John Watson looked back again at the point where Sherlock disappeared five minutes ago and he grinned. He had no bloody idea how and when detective had put that present. After all he was Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world. 

You could say all about Sherlock Holmes but without any question he was the most extraordinary, incredible and astonishing man which John Watson was meant to know in his whole life.   
And John Watson had known that long before this Christmas.


End file.
